


We Are Endless and Ineffable

by Frisky_Business



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A collection of work, Because I love writing them in cute scenarios, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Multi, more coming - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 17:32:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19468753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frisky_Business/pseuds/Frisky_Business
Summary: A collection of short stories featuring Aziraphale/Crowley, mostly fan fiction requests and thing I felt like writing.1.) Nazis, Books and Proposals





	We Are Endless and Ineffable

**Author's Note:**

> I like to think I'm doing a service to this country by providing endless good boy fan fiction.

Crowley did not /side/ with humans. Rather, he would just playfully hand them ammo in order for them to construct their own demise, which was something they were gleefully good at. He wouldn’t say he approved of what the nazis were doing, but always had to lend a helpful hand to whoever had ultimate /destruction/ in their minds. Some people just enjoyed watching the world burn, and as a resident demon, he had to dutifully oblige. Although he tried to stay out of politics, they always seemed to follow him around. Annoying buggers, truly. But he did not pick sides.

That was, until one side decided to step out of line. 

Stepping out of line included anything that /remotely/ inconvenienced the demon, and messing with Aziraphale, which was a big /no no/. 

There was only one creature allowed to mess with his angel, and it was him. Heaven and Hell and earth be damned. Therefore when he heard about the elaborate plan to thwart the British by using a gullible book collector, he knew immediately who they were referring too. He felt his blood boil. God damn nazis. Dragging his precious, if not oblivious, angel into their affairs. In the back of his mind, he knew Aziraphale was trying to trick them.

Aziraphale was too damn trusting, honestly. Using a woman and pretending to be the British police was something that he would /willing/ fall for. Honestly, it made him bubble over with fierce anger that only hell could represent. 

And thus, he decided that these fuckers would get bombed. 

It was sad how easy it was to tempt the Allies to bomb them. 

“Heard there were those damn nazis hanging out in some church. Ya think ya all could go, you know, bomb it?” 

“Thanks for the tip, Mr. Crowley! We can bomb the shit out of this joint.”

You would think it would be harder to convince a bunch of people to murder each other, but really, it was simple. Just the right words and instantly, you were starting World War II. Not suggesting he /started/ World War II, but he would definitely be there to see how it played out. 

The photos of them chatting with Aziraphale made him so /irrationally/ angry. What right did they have conversing with him? Hell, they had no right to even stand in the same room as the angel. And to touch, excuse me, defile his books. He would walk over hot coals to ensure that righteous retribution was served. Which, I suppose, was exactly what he had done. 

Churches.

Damn churches, really. 

“Mr. Fell, it is a shame you must meet this end,” a gun was held to Aziraphale’s head. Oh the paperwork, it would be endless. Even worse, imagining the shit eating grin Gabriel would give him made it /even/ worse. Death he could handle. Gabriel bemusing his demise was something he felt was a fate worse than falling from heaven. Bodies were not easy to obtain, he was lucky he had this one. 

He also didn’t want to stain his shoes with blood, that would be terrible to try and wash off. Could you imagine losing your best pair of kicks because some idiots decided to shoot you? Aziraphale instantly felt annoyed.  
“Well hello!” Crowley’s voice burst through his thought process, causing the angel to glance over uncomfortably. Anywhere there was guns, he supposed it would make sense for a demon to appear. Or saunter. Whichever term worked the best for the strange dance Crowley performed upon entering the church. “Hot hot hot!”

“Mr. Crowley, your fame proceeds you.” 

“Aye. Listen they are legitimately planning on blowing this joint sky high. Ya think you all could umm… leave?”

“C-Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice sounded like sweet music to Crowley’s ears, even if the look he was giving him looked a bit constipated and quite stupid. He loved him. 

“No seriously. I mean this in the best way possible but you all are going to die if you stand here gawking.”

“It’s a pleasure meeting you, but it seems unfortunate that we have to kill you.” One of the spies spoke, the female. She had given him bedroom eyes at least once or twice when he had come to chat about murder and the lot. The building shook ominously as Crowley glanced at them, offering a small smile. 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

He did warn them, didn’t he? He honestly could have just let them blow up. But fair is fair in love and war. And it was a miracle he managed to keep his composure while feeling the flesh melt away from his heels during that whole /enter a church as a demon/ thing. Honestly they didn’t stand much of a chance in that blast, and if it hadn’t been for heavenly/hellish miracles, he was sure he and Aziraphale would have served as glorified skid marks on the heels of World War II. Those damn humans were getting better and better at killing themselves. He would be out of a job sooner than he would have wanted. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing, really. 

The smoke was thick and vast, flames licking his hands as he looked over to the angel. Aziraphale was carefully examining the church, a sad but relieved smile gracing his lips. The moment settled before panic struck his brow. 

“T-The books! Oh the books!” 

“A small hellish miracle, hmm?” Crowley spoke, prying the books from the hands of a deceased nazi and gingerly handing them back to his companion. The look on Aziraphale’s face was one he felt he could treasure. If he could keep a moment wrapped in a box, it would be the joy on the angel’s face after receiving his precious books back from the depths of evil itself. Maybe he was feeling selfish, but he wanted to continue to do things that would make Aziraphale happy. He gave him a look that could only be defined as pure devotion, one that could not be expressed by words alone. 

“Thank you.”

“Don’t ever say that.”

“My dear. I sincerely mean it.” Aziraphale’s hand heavy on his shoulder. 

“You owe me later.” 

“Anything you want.” 

“Are you sure you’re willing to say that, angel?” Crowley looked amused for a moment as he thought of all the ways he could spin this moment. “Is that a promise?”

“To my best ability, I suppose it is.”

“Then I want you to be mine. Forever. Truly.” The expression on the angel’s face was hard to decipher. 

“I’m sorry… I misheard you, I believe.”

“You. Me. Together. For the rest of eternity.”

“No, apparently I had heard you correctly.” He mused, a thoughtful expression written on his brow. “Then I suppose I am yours. What does that entail, exactly?”

“That I can take you out for dinner whenever I want. Force you to be in my company.”

“You never /force/ me to do anything, my dear.” Words sweet and delicate, just like the man himself. “I quite enjoy your company.”

“Then how about we get a drink. You can tell me about how the war has been going on your side, eh?” Crowley commented, offering his hand to the angel. He knew how it was going, but he also knew Aziraphale was one to chat incessantly about his contributions to the efforts to end it. 

“That sounds quite delightful, actually.” He slid his hand into Crowley’s. 

They stayed like that for a moment, enjoying each other’s company. As they would and as they have, for over 6,000 years.


End file.
